


rubescent

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: future foundation meeting.





	rubescent

Once per month. That’s all that’s asked of them.

A check in among branches, a fur trade of ideas and what wonderings may trail. The head of the eighth or ninth or hundredth division has been placed at the top of the table palavering a storm about cupcake decorations for the next meeting. At least three onlookers rest with notebook lines indented in their foreheads. He himself can wonder only just how he’s expected to care.

Once a month, but that’s time all valuable when being beneath the collar marked Togami Byakuya. Wasting tick...tock...tick- wasting every second here crowded in this dim lit room, the only note taken a black inked _fuck_ in crisp English calligraphy; he traces over it a dozen more times with the tip of his pen, fist supporting one side of his jaw and to its left a scrambling cacophony enough to earn his eyes. Just to the left, just right there, Naegi and his busy little fingers jot down not notes but X’s to parallel Hagakure’s O’s, matching each other’s every move to counter. The noise, too- that’d stemmed from the drag of a pen line through a set of O’s, two aligned and the third careened off without true sequence. Naegi’s gawk had tipped Hagakure’s barked out laugh, the final domino of a throat cleared far ahead laying a thin leer their way.

“Division Fourteen,” Munakata scorns. Papers tap to neatness before him. “If you wouldn’t mind presenting next…”

That catches what it can of their ragtag attention. The idiots beside him straighten themselves, Togami watching the half second flash of hazel eyes turned toward him before chasing their train. Kirigiri meets his gaze. Her pen sits unclicked. She rises, one soft nod all that’s needed of her, rises and clears the bottom of her throat. He loses his listening skills after her first breathed syllable.

His hands set gently to the table, nose dipping just long enough to turn himself smart, sits rights with lapels smoothed, legs crossed. The competition to his left has died away in the face of Hagakure throwing his hands behind the head and snoring a thunderclap every so often. Naegi keeps to himself to swirl doodles up margins, sunflower softness written in his face. Togami sighs. Once a month.

By the time Kirigiri has said what she’s needed, a sentence, no further, there’s hands battling the air for her attention. Asahina’s chosen question is of what kinds of supplies their branch will need upon the next mission, then a follow up to ask if the five of them are still going to dinner tonight. Though a swivel’s found his eyes, beside him sounds a sliver of a laugh, and with that same lingering smile is he brought to peer at after Naegi has tapped his shoulder. Just once, a soft touch. Togami casts a look behind the light reflecting his lenses. Naegi reaches in silence to grasp the hand nearest him, leaves Togami to stare downward at whatever asininity is to find him.

When the touch of a pen tip prods gainst his finger, he’s quick to retract, but a pouty lip and sweetheart eyes are enough to sink his skepticism back right.

A quick flirt of his glance upward assures him he’s still the sane one here, even with his hand stolen stark left to a boredom fueled tattoo parlor. At least he’s not that one across the way- what’s her number again? Five? The one of the big petticoats and head always ten feet up Munakata’s ass, the one now scurrying about to wipe a kerchief down the condensation of every last water glass across the table. At least he’s not her. And at least he’s not Hagakure, or Asahina, or, by God, at least he’s not Kirigiri placed as everyone’s jester until they deem her performance fit enough to relieve her. Acting head. That’s pleasant right there.

And pleasant, that’s just exactly how he’d describe the expression sewn on Naegi’s smile and tiny lashes and the dull white of his teeth, all wound into pride as he offers Togami his hand back to keep, only now with the art of a black band scribbled on his third finger. A brow raises for a shade of confusion, alleviated once Naegi lifts his own left hand to place just beside the other’s.

Differences highlight on instant, the size and the softness, though it is the similarity that jars him most, one of twinning jewelry drawn on in pen.

“Now we’re married,” he whispers within that smile. Every inch of Togami’s flesh sears.

Kirigiri’s just wrapping up another answer session when his chair wheels scrape the floor. Behind knuckles is his mouth kept, taut and warmed, as he excuses himself from the clutter of the cross the tables meeting, dim lit room, once per month.

Tic tac toe. A ruin right through the center.


End file.
